


Wolf Like Me

by liluye (mouselini)



Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rimming, i can't even describe how explicit this is, there's no intro
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-12
Updated: 2019-04-12
Packaged: 2020-01-12 04:56:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,288
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18439484
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mouselini/pseuds/liluye
Summary: show you what all thathowlin’ is for





	Wolf Like Me

**Author's Note:**

> dedicated to [secretbarf](https://archiveofourown.org/users/secretbarf/profile) who may never look me in the eye again, which is exactly the point.
> 
> [[1](https://youtu.be/j1-xRk6llh4)] [[2](https://youtu.be/vwVX4cG6F9s)]
> 
> ...k here we go

They’d started making out in the driveway, Hawke's key still in the ignition when Fenris swung open the driver’s side door to sink his teeth where his tongue had just been. They’d almost fucked too, right there on the pavement, fully clothed and doused like devils in the pale moonlight.

Almost.

 

Fenris straddles Hawke's hips and shoves him back across the bed with a darker kiss, and it is effortless, like Hawke is made to lie under him as often as he does, writhing up so Fenris feels the full-fire length of his cock the whole time he works to unbutton Hawke’s shirt. It comes off, and Fenris drops it to the floor before he strips his own, nails returning fast to Hawke’s ribs, his back arrow-straight as he bucks unapologetically into the base of Hawke’s cock where his balls roll slightly with the grind. 

“What’s with you tonight—”

Sweeping his hair to the side, Fenris steals the words with his teeth and hisses. Hawke has this broken way of kissing when he’s turned on, this slack, lingering heaviness that ends with his teeth falling closed around Fenris’ lips, opening again in bouts to dab his tongue into Fenris’ mouth between pants, lips split and always on the brink of a moan. He's so close to coming already, Fenris can feel it in the drag of his tongue, can feel Hawke's cock pulsing in violent combat with the fabric between them, the denim staining wet by his slit and they haven’t even done anything yet—it makes Fenris growl into Hawke's ear, all teeth and greed, his own dick throbbing as he grinds harder in response to the sharp, nervous laugh that Hawke releases to the room.

The sound recedes, quick as it came, when Fenris locks his fingers to Hawke’s open leather belt. Panting, he uses it like a rein to steer Hawke's hips up into the dirty ride of his own, eyes fixed to Hawke's cocktip as it stabs up between the denim, swollen-red and leaking across the hair that jets down his abdomen—Fenris salivates like a wild animal just watching it strain, _god_ does he want to suck it—and Hawke’s reduced to whines now, destroyed before he’s even touched, his strong hands flexed across Fenris’ thighs and incapable of movement as Fenris dry rides him down into the mattress.

“God damn,” Hawke slurs, tongue darting hot into Fenris’ mouth. He's trying so hard to keep his eyes open it's like watching a war, and Fenris has this sick urge to pillage him for everything he’s worth.

So he drops and takes Hawke’s cock in one hard suck, tearing Hawke’s jeans down as Hawke bolts upright, fist tight in Fenris’ hair. Hawke wants to fuck his mouth—Fenris knows he does, knows him like the tattoos etched to the back of his hand—but Hawke’s a good boy and holds back as his thighs shake, breaths hitching up until they crack like glass.

“ _Fuck_ , Fenris, what the fuck's gotten into you—”

Both hands fisting Hawke's length, Fenris hollows his cheeks and drags off his tip with bruising suction, matching Hawke's groan with a lick to his lips before he delves back to take it as far as it'll go. Fenris loves blowing him. He loves how thick he can make him and how he pulses hot and tight on his tongue, almost in spasms. Loves Hawke’s grip in his hair when his lips brush the slit, how his thumbs gently smooth across his eyebrows right after. Loves the salty, obscene weight that stretches the corners of his mouth for days, raws out patches of skin that he'll later tongue in secret as he walks through crowds and empty grocery aisles; the ache in the hinge of his jaw that spikes when he speaks to those who love Hawke most, who miss him when he leaves the room, who hug him when he enters it, who think they know him like Fenris knows him, as if anyone could _ever know him like Fenris knows him_ —

"Fenris—fuck, right there,”

—and he loves that. Muscles tightening beneath his fingertips, Fenris sucks harder, precum flooding the divot of his bottom lip as Hawke’s control finally ebbs into short, reluctant thrusts that make him see red, make him want to choke on it until Hawke’s shaking and empty and begging him to stop because he can’t take it anymore.

But Hawke has other plans. He’s too close, swelling impossibly between Fenris’ lips and nearly convulsing as his thumb drops to the corner of Fenris’ mouth to feel himself slide wet, his gasps taking the shape of Fenris’ name—tense but tender still, always, even when he hooks his finger into Fenris’ lip and pulls.

Fenris smiles with the stretch.

Trembling harder, Hawke suddenly tears Fenris off with a force that translates into their dynamic, stumbles them off the bed and across the bedroom floor where he advances on Fenris with his head bowed and his pupils blown. Latching both hands to Fenris’ jaw, he crashes their mouths together and slams Fenris back into the nearest wall, hiking his thighs up with incensed thrusts that rattle the house to its frame.

It’s Fenris’ turn to wail. When Hawke drops to his knees and rips Fenris’ belt open, Fenris’ thighs balanced heavy on his shoulders—darts his head through the space between Fenris’ jeans and groin to suck him dry with two spit-wet fingers already cresting his prostate— pistoning— deeper— Fenris _screams_.

And how Hawke looks up at him when he does. Those lidded eyes alight with greed and flaring as he sucks Fenris down to the hilt, fingers scissored open with a third flaying up to make him scream again, raw and feverish, and all the while Fenris feels deranged, pounding into the back of Hawke’s throat like a beast caged with both fists knotted in his hair.

He’s never been a good boy like Hawke. He could never be, not like this, turning out around his pricking fingers and the sharp sweep of his tongue, overheated and hazy, vision going black around the edges. He manages to free his legs from his jeans and pummel Hawke off balance, sends him back against the floor where he thrusts hands-and-knees-down into Hawke's throat, thighs trembling and locked to the sides of Hawke's face, getting him messy and growling on each suck—

Hawke can take it. Hawke can always take it. 

Hawke has always taken it, and has offered Fenris the world in return.

Gasping, Fenris collapses to his side and fucks him through the the shivers that arc his spine, his orgasm climbing steep under Hawke's tongue, step over shaking step until Hawke tears free at the very edge. Nerves writhing with the sudden stop, Fenris crumbles down on all fours; his hips twitch to keep his cock off the carpet as it tugs with the precum that drips freely from his tip.

Hawke is behind him, now, all teeth: his strong hands grip the backs of his thighs, thumbs working up the touch-shy space behind his balls as he pants, “fucking spread your legs,” and, “god, baby, spread them,” and Fenris does, he does, Hawke is shaking behind him and he does.

Split by Hawke's tongue, Fenris’ muscles spasm until they go rigid. No other soul could do this to him. Not a single other soul could ever be allowed this close, prying him open and fucking him out with feverish, oscillating strokes, entrance tightening to an ache when Hawke's lips contort in dirty snarls against his skin, teeth scraping, catching.

“Hawke—Hawke, don't stop,” Fenris gasps, halfway between a beg and a command. He grinds back into Hawke's scruff, onto the hot slide—god, Hawke fucks him with his mouth the same way he fucks him with his cock, his tongue stiffened to an upward curve and searing as it stabs, retreats—shudders bleeding up between the smacking gush of Hawke jerking himself hard behind him.

“You’re gonna come if I keep going,” Hawke whispers. The smile in his voice twists into a moan as the claps down his own shaft grow erratic. Lips pulling into an open-mouthed kiss, his tongue ruts up Fenris’ cleft only to be replaced by the heavy, promising grind of his cock, nails digging deep as he palms Fenris’ ass closed around its crown and begins to thrust.

Fenris presses his eyes into his forearm and braces himself against the press of Hawke's body.

A cap clicks. Warm oil slicks the grind, trickling from his crack to his balls.

He could come just from the way Hawke shudders.

“Hawke—”

“God,” Hawke's thighs start to seize. “Fuck, baby, _god_ I'm so fucking close—”

Fenris feels him strain. Grow—his own cock gets wetter with each twitch, somehow harder. His breath slips, condensed with sweat, and then:

“ _—Fuck me._ ”

No sooner does Fenris say it. No sooner, and Hawke slams into him, fingers like a vice on his hips, punching out a gagged cry with the force of his blow. Lurched forward upon impact, Fenris smiles something wicked and feels like he's made of teeth, the whole of him burning and full; he drives back against Hawke's hard cock, knees dragging raw and eyes stung-closed as Hawke rips into him thrust after deep-cleaving thrust.

“Harder,” Fenris chokes. His moans slip into incoherency, but he does not need to ask twice.

Hawke snaps into him with full length strokes, fingers cupping the ridge of Fenris’ groin and holding him steady as they fuck, deliberately splayed to avoid Fenris’ cock so as not to tip him over the edge. Fenris knows he's holding back. He knows Hawke can go twice as hard as he is—he betrays himself every few thrusts, suddenly jarring in power before quickly reclaiming composure—but Fenris does not push him nor turn a blind eye to the weight behind his care.

Nearing his own peak, Fenris clenches around the tip of Hawke's cock, locking him in place at his ring.

“Oh god, Fenris— _fuck, baby I'm gonna come_ —”

Hawke tears out before he does, chest collapsing in heaves onto Fenris’ back. He presses his brow to the space between Fenris’ shoulder blades and gasps as his cock bows in pulses on his skin, heart pounding so hard Fenris feels its vibration in his bones. They stay this way for a beat, panting and overheated, Hawke breathing open-mouthed kisses along the tattoos that line Fenris’ spine. 

Then Fenris hears him laugh through the bloodrush in his head, a gentle spark of a sound that could keep him up all night, and a finger ghosts, teasing, up the length of his prick, followed by a bite to his neck.

The growl that tears out of him belongs to no man; he whirls around, throws Hawke down on his back and covers Hawke's sweat-damp body with his own. Unable to see straight, he mimics the dizzy descent of Hawke's fingers on his skin until he's licking between Hawke's lips, paving a kiss that deepens as he's breached again by crooking fingers, only this time coated slick.

“Get back on me,” Hawke breathes, urgent. He slides his fingers from Fenris’ opening to the back curve of his thigh, gently guiding Fenris back to his dick with so much love in his eyes— _so much_ —

Fenris blinks, and he is floored.

This is _his_.

Shaking on the boundary of lust with his heart lodged deep in his throat, Fenris falls forward into Hawke's arms and kisses him with everything that's left of him to give.

He pulls away, and Hawke drags him in for another kiss, slack lingering heaviness that ends with his teeth falling closed and the words, “love you,” whispered in the breaths between them.

There are stars in the corners of his eyes when he says it.

Straightening his back, Fenris mounts him with his gaze hooked to the blown space of Hawke's pupils, the devotion shining wide within them, the moon that hums, mirrored, along the top and flickers when his lashes slip shut.

Fenris wavers. He finds Hawke's hands with his own and, heart pounding, he mouths, _I love you too._

...And then he takes Hawke's cock to the hilt in one harsh drop.

“ _Holy fuck—_ ”

“Come in me, Garrett,” Fenris' warns, voice wrenched from his ribs as he rides Hawke down, fast and relentless and gutted, his orgasm quickly restarting its steep ascent. Beneath him, Hawke meets his pace with ragged whines, grip tight enough to crack Fenris’ knuckles, fingers long gone cold.

“Garrett— _fuck,_ Garrett come on, _do it_ —” He's about to come. He's going to come. It builds, twists, a tight bind that stretches from his navel to his thighs as he fucks down on Hawke's cock, all the way in—he can feel it in his throat—and Hawke's coming, too, shooting up in him with his moonlit face screwed in a silent howl that Fenris, slipping fast from his edge, resonates right before descent. 

 

Lying in the moonlight that cuts the dark in two, Hawke laughs. His nails skate up Fenris’ spine, drawing rings on their path to his hair.

Fenris hums quietly at the contact.

“Hey, Fenris?” Hawke starts. He wipes cum from his beard, then holds his hand out to observe its sticky flex with all the dumb awe of a man who hasn't had a facial since college. “Love?”

“Hm?”

“Love, why don't we ever fuck on the bed? It's right there.”

To prove his point, Hawke spreads his soiled fingers across the duvet that hangs delicately by his face. It makes Fenris cringe. This is his side.

“Like. It's just always _right there_.”


End file.
